Everlong
by Weele P
Summary: It was everything; slow, good, real. Everything he had never had, but now he knows it wasn't that far away.
1. Studio version

**Everlong**

_1st verse_

-Hello, Erik. I knew you would come someday.

Cynism. I hate to admit this, but I inherited it from him. Sebastian Shaw, _herr Doktor_, had raised me to be the perfect weapon: cold, emotionless, selfish, deadly. And, for all that I know, weapons neither have feelings (anger, perhaps) nor do they speak (unless you consider the sounds of shooting and stabbing). Humans had such things as feelings, voice, life, and except for a short period of my life, I have never been treated as nothing but a freak, _a monster_. I was kind of a Frankenstein-like creature; one who was about to kill it's creator.

-I was waiting for you, don't you know.

-Me too. Everlong.

The next thing I know, I was in the middle of the sea (how did I get there?) and there was a numbing pain spreading all over my body. I wasn't going to give up on my vendetta so easily, though. The ship was way too heavy to sink, so I did the next best thing: lift the anchoring chains. Not that I knew what to do with them, and it was hard as fuck to hold them in place, but I was expecting an idea to pop into my head at any minute.

Then there was this little pressure over me, enough to break my concentration (I was drowning, why didn't I notice it earlier?), and the chains fell back on the water, creating waves all over me. That little pressure was annoying me already, though it was strangely comfortable and warm, and it was all over me, even into that deep blood colored mess where I kept my thoughts, but it was annoying me. Then I heard a voice that surely wasn't my own and it wasn't from anyone I've ever met, and this voice, a man's voice, frightened (or was it worried?) and desperate, kept calling my name, over and over, until I gave up.

-Erik, my friend, calm your mind. You're safe now.

* * *

><p><em>2<em>_nd__ verse_

It's been almost a month since I met Charles Xavier. Though I had been mad at first, we quickly became close friends. Closer than I thought possible for a man like me. Not that I was complaining, far from it, actually. He was the first person in years that showed me some kindness without expecting something in return. In fact, he and my mother were the only ones in the world who ever did that.

The incident at the C.I.A. headquarters which caused Armando's death and Angel's departure, alongside with a few more ounces of frustration (because fucking Sebastian Shaw had been so close!), also made us move to the ancient Xavier's house. Mansion. Castle. Whatever that huge place was. I'll always wonder why we weren't there on the first place, because besides it being enormous, the facilities were much better and suited for training than C.I.A.'s (also much less unnerving). The best part about that house (mansion? Castle?) wasn't the space or the facilities, though. It was the study room. It smelt like old books, scotch and sandalwood, and it's where me and Charles would spend hours, playing chess as an excuse to learn about each other without words.

Time passed slower when we were together, or so it seemed. Perhaps it had something to do with telepathy, but I don't really think so. Charles made me a lot calmer, a lot more than I thought possible, but again, he had this effect over me, a lot of things I thought impossible became usual after we became friends. Friends, best friends. I would never get over this. Friendship, camaraderie, trustfulness, _happiness_. Human feelings that were almost foreign to me.

Unfortunately, I remained in my weapon condition, and as any good weapon, I had to be trained. I had quite unusual training choices, and making Charles comply with them had been a hard task. I saw on the lines of his face that he really tried to shoot me, but he's too much of a nice guy to shoot a friend in the middle of the forehead. We both knew I could stop the bullet, I had done it plenty of times. But Charles had a better idea, a harder, more challenging idea: moving the satellite dish. He had faith in me, but I was sure I couldn't make it, not without help, anyway. When I let him inside my head to help me, I wasn't expecting a memory of one of my brightest days, when my mother (no, _mein Mama_) taught me about the Hanukkah traditions, about the meaning of each light, and the peace we felt when all the candles were lit. That memory was buried so deep I had forgotten about it, and when I opened my eyes, I felt a single tear sliding down my cheek. I moved the satellite.

I didn't notice it at first, but Charles had tear stains on his cheeks.

* * *

><p><em>Chorus<em>

-Charles.

_Silence_

-Charles?

-Um? Sorry Erik, you were saying?

_He's always so deep in thought._

-I have been wondering.

-About what?

His queen took my knight; I took his bishop with my rook.

-About all these things happening right now. About the future, the future of our species, about killing Shaw, about everything.

_About you. I think I love you._

-Don't let these worries get you, my friend.

-But what if we die? What if we follow different paths? What if we're betrayed?

_What if I loose you?_

-Then, my friend, we shall do what we must under the circumstances.

His pawn took my rook; I took his knight with my king.

-I'm tired of this.

I took one of his pawns with my bishop.

-Of what, may I ask?

He took my queen with another pawn.

-Of everything. I'm tired of losing everything, of people I love getting killed, of things getting worse when they were already fucking. terrible.

I knew things would be upside down after I killed Shaw. Still, I wish everything could stay this good, feel this real all the time.

Charles took my king with his queen.

-I'm really sorry to say this, my friend, but you just lost again. Checkmate.

I managed a weak smile.

-You cheat.

-No I don't! I'm just that good.

_Oh, you have no idea._

-Erik?

-Yes?

-Can you make me a promise?

-Unless you ask me not to kill Shaw, then yes, anything.

-Don't stop me.

That said, he kissed me.

* * *

><p><em>Third verse<em>

I wasn't on control, as I thought I would be. Not that I minded it.

Charles' left hand lifted my chin while his right hand was on my neck, playing with a few strands of hair. His lips were dry and rough, but gentle at the same time, and his scent (white tea, oak and musk) filled my lungs, my veins, my thoughts, my everything. The hand on my chin went up to my face, caressing softly my cheekbones, and that's when my own hands decided to move, one on the base of his neck and the other on the small of his back, pulling him closer and lifting me up from the armchair at the same time. I groaned when I felt the taste of his mouth (scotch, mint toothpaste and rosemary) on mine, trying to get him the closest possible, battling with the buttons of his vest, then with the buttons of his shirt and why did he wore so many layers of clothing?

The brief two seconds we pulled away (to breath and to remove another unnecessary items of clothing) were enough to put my thoughts in an acceptable order. I knew in that moment that I loved Charles; naïve, friendly, careless, optimistic, good natured, ridiculously beautiful and a tad bit crazy Charles Xavier. He was the complete opposite of myself, but he fit like a puzzle piece. That one puzzle piece I thought I lost years ago, and was the only one missing to finish the puzzle, to fill that gap right in the middle of it. Even his body fit perfectly around mine, our height difference (it wasn't much, but suddenly he looked so small wrapped between my arms) and our body type difference, and the fact that his head rested right above my heart. Everything.

His bare chest was warm and soft against mine (even my body was like a weapon, hard and cold), and his lips had gone away from my mouth to travel down my neck, my clavicle, my shoulders, my nipples, my ribs, my stomach and every inch of skin he could reach. I could undo my belt and the buttons of my trousers with a thought, but it was nice to see Charles fidget with them, the lust in his eyes making his pupils so huge his eyes were almost black, and not in that electric blue, the bluest of the blue eyes I had ever seen. When he finally undid my pants, sliding it down just enough to pull my underwear along, without really taking it off, I decided I couldn't take it anymore. I got him on his back, taking his belt and almost ripping his trousers with a flick of my wrist (suddenly bending metal had a whole new meaning), and kissing him feverishly, passionately, wildly. Did Charles know I loved him? That this wasn't just a "perhaps I'm going to die tomorrow" fuck, that he made me calm when I thought of him, that there wasn't any woman in the world who could compare to him?

-Charles.

He looked startled.

-Yes?

-You're crazy.

He laughed.

-You're not much sane either, my friend.

I kissed him lightly on the lips.

-I love you.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Author's note:<em>**

****_It was kind of hard to write this in first person, but I think I succeeded!_

_This was inspired on "Everlong", by Foo Fighters, that has been on repeat since I started to write this._

_You should listen to the song while you read, it's highly recommended! (It's a fantastic song, really)_

_I hope you enjoy it!_

**-W.P. Petit.**_  
><em>


	2. Acoustic version

"Oh."

Oh? Was that all he had to say? Not that I was expecting him to say it back (who am I kidding? Of course I was), but he could at least be more articulate on his response?

"I wasn't expecting the feeling to be mutual, my friend."

"What do you mean, Charles?"

"That I love you too, my dearest friend. I have loved you all this time, oh, if only you were the telepath in here, you'd know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Share with me, then."

I adored the sensation of his mind tangling with mine; it was simmilar to our fingers interlaced and our mouths pressed together: a warm feeling of comfort and pleasure. The thoughts he was projecting sent electric chills down my spine; every memory since we first met, all the knowing glances and unspoken words, all the oportunities he had had to confess to me but decided not to because it was a foolish idea, the sensation that he felt when we kissed, the sea of emotion when I said I loved him.

His lips against mine suddenly felt softer, the body against mine grew warmer, the hands on my neck and shoulder gripped tighter, his legs wrapped around my waist pulling me closer, for more friction, more heat. I was burning up. His mind was still connected with mine, projecting thoughts of , and it only made my erection grow harder with lust. I needed to have him, otherwise I would die of sexual frustration.

"Erik?"

"Yes?"

"Would you mind if... If I was the top?"

I wasn't expecting this question.

"Why?"

"I have never done this with another man before. I don't mind being the bottom if it makes you uncomfortable but..."

"Have me as you please, Charles."

"But are you-"

"I trust you."

And I did.

He kissed me, not even bothering to be a gentleman this time, and pulled off my trousers, making me groan with the sudden action. He placed his hands on my waist and slowly dragged me down, then turned me on my back and straddled me, moaning with the friction between our bodies. Perhaps I moaned too, because he stopped kissing me to look me in the eyes, love and lust almost blinding him. I felt kind of intimidated in my position, the times I was below someone didn't really give me the best of the memories, and to tell the truth, I was a little bit uncomfortable. I could easily overpower Charles, but that wasn't the point in our act. I needed to show I trusted him, that I loved him enough to do this without regrets. I could do this.

I pulled his pants down using my hands, I couldn't concentrate with his mouth on my neck kissing and licking and sucking and nibbling every inch of skin he could reach. He wasn't wearing any underwear, which made me gasp in surprise. He smiled at this, and continued traveling down to my chest, sucking lightly on my left nipple (just above my heart), then biting lightly on my ribs (which tickled in a nice way) and then licking a trail down to the waistband of my underwear, just to remove it gently with his teeth. I caught myself wondering if he did that to women too, but I soon dismissed the thought; thinking too much wouldn't do me any good. He seemed to catch a glimpse of what was going on my head, because he looked at me with worry on his face.

"Actually, no, I've never done this before."

"You mean, sex? Or just teasing?"

"Teasing. I'm gentle, but I'm usually a one-night stand guy."

"Am I a one-night stand, Charles?"

He looked right into my soul when I asked him this.

"You? A one-night stand was never an option."

I laughed at this; part from relief, part because I had said these words earlier, in another context.

"Will you quit the teasing, then?"

"Does it bother you that much, my friend?"

"Of course not, but I think I might die if you don't go any further right now."

"Very good, then. I need something slippery, though."

"You have petroleum jelly, don't you?"

"Yes, but it's for my lips..."

"I buy you another one. Where is it?"

"First drawer of my desk, in a metal tin."

"Great."

Sometimes, I love being a metal bender.

He kissed me, softly and gently at first, just pressing our lips a hundred of times, but then licking my lower lip before pushing his tongue inside my mouth, like if asking for permission. He tasted a little bit saltier, from my own sweat, and I felt eager for more of him. Our kiss grew more heated and demanding, and every part of our bodies were intertwined, from our legs to our limbs to our arms to our mouths to our minds. He questioned inside my head if we shouldn't use a condom, for we were two men. I also thought about it, but I had been tested two months ago, so unless Charles had something, we could skip the protection this time. When I asked him this, he told me straightaway he didn't have anything. Good.

He slipped his fingers on the vaseline and spread my legs, but before anything, he gave me a soft, reassuring kiss, silently asking if I was sure. If I wasn't sure right now, then I'd never be. I pushed him closer, confirming my answer, and he pushed one of his fingers inside me. My breath hitched and I gasped, but he knew to stay still until I felt comfortable. A minute and a half passed and I signed for him to move slowly. It was a bit painful, but strangely pleasurable, and soon I asked for another finger, the jolts of pleasureable pain making me moan and sweat and scratch Charles back, and then the same sensation again when I asked for more. His sweat made his bangs glue to his forehead and his pale skin burn with heat, and he arched his back when my nails dug on his shoulderblades everytime he reached my prostate.

Soon, his fingers weren't enough. I almost begged him to be fully inside me when he removed his fingers to spread some more vaseline on his cock. I shivered with anticipation, licking my lips as I saw what was in front of me, and he smirked as he placed himself where his fingers were before. He pushed himself all the way inside me, and it hurt more than expected, but fuck, it was good.

After a good few thrusts and moans and bites and blood (I should file my nails before next time), he came inside me, hot and wet and it was enough to make me come too, all over my stomach. He removed himself from inside me, and we lied on the floor of the study, breathless, tired and satisfied. We needed to shower and to go back to our rooms, but sleep was almost winning its battle against us. I held Charles in my arms, kissing away the sweat on his forehead, while he drew circles on my forearm and hummed in delight.

"We should get up and shower."

"Nah."

"But we're sticky, Erik! And we can't sleep on the floor of the study."

"Why not? I'm comfortable here."

"Because we will get sick and cold, besides, we'll have backaches and it will take us longer to have sex again."

"Alright, fair point. You get up first and help me here."

"But you're stronger, you should carry me to the restroom!"

"I've just been fucked, I should be the one carried away."

"Okay, you got me."

"Indeed I did."

"Hey, that's not what I meant!"

"But isn't it true anyway?"

"Yes yes, it is."

I smiled on his hair.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Charles. But you can't say this after you fuck someone."

"Of course I can. I can do anything."

"Oh really? Can you repeat everything we just did, then?"

"Easy task."


End file.
